


Supposed To Be The One

by TheMutantHonk



Series: Febuwhump2021 [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Blood, FebuWhump2021, Mayan Mythology - Freeform, Mind Control, Possession, Self-Harm, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29795544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMutantHonk/pseuds/TheMutantHonk
Summary: Here lies my attempts at the whole of FebuWhump. How will it go? I sure as heck have no idea. These will primarily be centered around Dick, unless stated otherwise. Also nobody dies unless stated otherwise.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Febuwhump2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168589
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	Supposed To Be The One

**Author's Note:**

> I say I'm going to work on something else completely, but then here I am starting from the very beginning of the Febuwhump prompts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had a tentative relationship these days, built back up over the years after everything they had been through together, but this was still his little brother, and he was thrilled Tim had asked for his help, even if was for figuring out what to do with with his parents’ things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day One - Mind Control - Dick and Tim
> 
> Warnings in the end notes
> 
> When I first considered mind control, I was totally going to go with a brain parasite. And then I remembered I was an Animorphs child and the similarities would probably get me called out. So ghostly possession was my next idea, and I recalled I used to be obsessed with the Mayan civilization, especially Camazotz. Jack Drake's career choice popped into my brain next and this all snowballed. 
> 
> I cherry pick canon and roll with comic book logic and magic. I didn't fit it into the fic, but this is entirely about the Mayan vampire god Camazotz. Because I think I'm funny.

“So…” Dick gave the room a wary look as Tim shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting in place. It looked more like a gallery in a museum than it did a room in a house. Granted that house was a mansion, and Dick was pretty sure the room was actually a repurposed ballroom, but potayto potahto. The fact was, with the rows and rows of artifacts, most with their own cases, this was a private gallery. The two of them looked equally at a loss, faced with the task at hand. “Did you have any ah. Any plans for all of this?” 

Tim simply shrugged, rocking on his heels. It wasn’t anything unusual for Dick to be unable to hold still, but for Tim to be fidgeting so much? It gave away just how much he didn’t want to be here. “Maybe we should have taken up Alfred’s offer,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Nah.” Dick grinned at him, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. “We can do it.” No need to bother Alfred, not when he was already focused on the latest Wayne Charity Gala. Hence why Tim had turned the old butler down in the first place. 

The “task at hand” was something Tim had been dreading since he’d been orphaned. Now that he was eighteen, he was legally responsible for the Drake’s estate, and that included everything his parents had accumulated during his father’s archaeological career. 

“I kind of forgot most of this stuff existed.” Dick made an affirmative noise, watching the forlorn expression on Tim’s face as he took a few steps further into the room. His eyes drifted from display to display, giving away the anxiety he was clearly trying to hide. “I think I just want to. I don’t know. Donate it all? Give it back?” Tim looked uneasy. It probably would have been the exact opposite of what Jack and Janet Drake had wanted done with their things. 

“Hey.” Tim’s head snapped to Dick, looking sheepish. Dick just smiled at him, something soft and encouraging. They had a tentative relationship these days, built back up over the years after everything they had been through together, but this was still his little brother, and he was _thrilled_ Tim had asked for his help, even if was for figuring out what to do with with his parents’ things. 

“I’m sorry they’re not here anymore, really I am Timmy.” As much as he didn’t care for the Drakes, sometimes hated them on his brother’s behalf, it sucked to have your parents ripped away from you. Dick could attest to that. “But the last thing you should worry about now is what they would have approved of. If you want to hold on to this stuff to remember them by, I’ll support that. If you want to sell it, I’ll help you get in touch with the right people. You want to donate it? I’ll pack it up for you. This is your decision, Tim.”

“...Yeah, yeah it is,” Tim agreed quietly, standing up straighter. He nodded, looking less uncertain now. He gave Dick a tentative smile, that was returned with a bright grin. “You know, I couldn’t tell you how many times I was told not to even set a foot near this room? And when they–when they died. I think I took two steps inside before I ran right back out. All of this stuff meant more to them than it ever will to me, Dick. I don’t want it.” 

“Then I think donating it all is a great idea.” Dick stepped closer, wrapping his arm around Tim’s shoulders. It was almost awkward, since Tim had grown about a foot since he’d become too angry to accept hugs from Dick. It didn’t fail to send a ball of warmth right into his chest to be allowed to now. “How about I get started doing inventory on all this exciting junk for you, while you put that big, beautiful brain to work on something else for a while? Don’t you have boring ledgers to go through?” 

Tim laughed at Dick’s phrasing, taking the rare moment to lean into his side. He wouldn’t say it, but Dick knew he appreciated the out. This sucked, and he wanted to make it easier in whatever way he wanted for the kid. (No matter what, he’d always be a kid to Dick.) “Maybe I’ll do that.” 

“I can make a few calls while I’m at it; maybe Bruce knows someone who’d like to help get some of this stuff back to where it belongs.” Dick’s hand suddenly left Tim’s side, going to ruffle his hair before stepping away quickly with a laugh. 

***

As expected, it wasn’t exciting work. Dick appreciated history as much as the next guy, but he needed tasks that were a little more engaging if his head was expected to stay out of the clouds. The sheer amount of things this couple had collected, simply because they _could,_ was something Dick didn’t want to wrap his head around. He wondered how much of it was stolen, and decided he probably didn’t want to know the answer. 

It was obvious right away that the exhibits weren’t in an order that made any kind of sense. It took skimming the paperwork to realize that instead of culture or value, or even the freaking alphabet, the Drakes had displayed them in order of their trips together, with a section of artifacts apart from the rest. Those would be Jack’s collection before Janet came into the picture. It brought a grimace to Dick’s face when he figured out the pattern, and he was glad he’d sent Tim off. The kid didn’t need to associate any of these things with specific absences. 

Dick had lost track of just how many different ancient treasures he’d logged and made notes on who to contact before he decided he needed a break. His head was hurting in a way that reminded him it was time to rest his eyes and eat, and he itched to move around. He sighed, standing up straight to stretch. He gave a glance around him before shaking his head. If he were doing it all by himself, he’d just power through, but Tim was in his father’s study the last he knew, and Dick was not about to encourage Tim’s habit of working through meals. 

Dick stood up straight, groaning as he took a moment to wake himself up with a few good stretches, and headed to the door. He’d been working around the edge of the room and inwards, so he took a mental note of his spot and walked through the middle of the cases and displays now. It had him striding straight through the artifacts from the trip to South America when Tim had been ten, according to the dates on the paperwork.

A sudden cold settled over him as he walked, despite how warm it was in the mansion. It was summertime, after all, and Tim had opened the nearby balcony doors before leaving. A draft from the vents couldn’t explain the _darkcoldterrorpain_ that had him stumbling suddenly, bringing his arms up to hug himself. It was gone as quickly as it came, leaving Dick feeling disoriented, dizzy. Confused. He stopped where he was, spinning in place to survey the room, but saw nothing out of place. Still, he stayed where he was a long moment, eyes scanning whatever they laid on before he was satisfied he wasn’t going to find anything. 

When he turned to leave again, a sheen of light on an object caught his attention. His steps faltered, and he found himself frozen...transfixed. 

The object in question was a carved dagger. _Obsidian,_ he thought absently, eyes running over the sharp edges of the glittering blade down further, to the green jade handle. As one of the few artifacts in the room that didn't have a case, it was part of an entire set. An entire stone altar, deities chiseled all along the length and over the surface. A ceramic chalice was placed in the clawed hands of a jade statue that Dick found so, so familiar. The altar itself was darkened with age, crumbling and stained, while the statue was in near pristine condition, as was the knife.

It wasn't until that realization that Dick noticed he’d picked up the knife, and he recognized the figure carved into the handle. It matched the statue at the head of the altar, which he should have known the second his eyes laid upon them. He might have laughed at the irony, tracing his fingers over the bat-like features of the Mayan god, except… He didn't feel like laughing. 

He didn't feel much like anything, actually. 

Dick paused with the blade pressing against his palm, one twitch away from breaking skin, and frowned at the overwhelming desire to do just that. He bit the side of his cheek until he tasted sweet iron, letting the pain ground him enough to pull the dagger away from skin. There was a haze over his brain, like one big cloud had seeped into his head through his eyes. Distantly, he recognized something was _wrong,_ but he couldn't have even tried to figure out what or how to stop it. 

He slammed the knife down where he picked it up, gasping harshly, hands trembling. His eyes were wide, staring down at it, and putting it down should have been a win. Should have been enough, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get his body to do more than that. A roaring began to fill his ears, and the longer he stood looking down at the stone beneath his hands, the longer he spent touching it, the further away everything felt. The _louder_ it got in his head, until everything else was drowned out by an inhuman screeching, flashes of red and orange, the smell of smoke and blood and burning meat. Glistening white, a mouth full of wet canines moving in, a brush of fur and leathery skin.

He let his grip on the knife loosen into something practical, relaxed, and climbed up onto the altar, on his knees. A quick motion, the sound of fabric ripping, and he tossed his shirt to the side. It drew attention to the return of that cold feeling, ice deep in his bones. He didn't remember cutting it off. Didn't know why he did. 

Didn't care. 

The cloud was back, filling his head with thoughts, _promises_ of warmth, fulfillment, completion. Safety and love and everything else he could possibly want. Could need. He could float on this forever, as long as those promises were kept. As long as–

He blinked down at his hands, the visual of the blade pressing into the left side of his abdomen taking its time to catch up with the pain. What was he–? Almost two inches of obsidian were buried in the soft flesh of his side, angled to drag, to _gut_ himself. His hand tightened on the handle, the hard edges of the carved figure digging into his palm. Tremors shook his entire body, and he couldn’t tell if he was trying to stop himself or keep going. There was noise, so much noise in his head, bringing tears to his eyes because he just couldn’t _think_ over it all, and it hurt, god now that he stopped it just hurt, there was no more of that warm, and a voice over all of it, demanding his attention–

A hand covered his, and everything just. Stopped. It was quiet suddenly, the loss of noise in his head near-deafening, but now he could hear a broken sound escape him, and hear the desperate pleas next to his head of “Dick, _please, Dick,_ just fucking _stop–_ ”

He let the hand–Tim, Tim’s hand, he let _Tim_ pry his fingers off the handle, more gentle than necessary, than he’d expect, and then he was being hauled off the altar by his arm, still careful, so incredibly careful. Once he was away from the stone, it felt like he’d been doused with a bucket of ice water. He felt cold again, but the sudden clarity was much more shocking, and he nearly dropped back to his knees, leaning against Tim’s side. 

“What the fuck, Dick!” 

He shook his head rapidly, too many times, and reached down again to grip the dagger. Tim made a sound of protest, reaching to stop him again, but he grasped the handle and yanked it out of his side. There was a wet sound, a scraping sensation as it dragged off his lower rib, and then it was free for Dick to throw aside, well away from them both. The action earned another screech from Tim, who scrambled to press the hand at his waist against the hole left behind instead. 

_”Dick, what the fuck!”_

“Repeating yourself there, Timmy,” he murmured, reaching down to lay his hand over Tim’s. It was startlingly warm against his own, but that could also be attributed to the blood, which was always so, so hot. 

“Alfred is going to have a goddamn cow,” was the venomous response. The tone didn’t bother Dick much; he knew it was because Tim was scared. “He came by with lunch. This is the Drake residence, not the batcave! We’re not exactly equipped to do sutures here, _Richard._ ”

Dick was forced to cut off his chuckle at the sharp pains where he’d stabbed himself. All he wanted was to sit down and cry, but he couldn’t do that now, not with Tim so shaken up. Instead he nudged his brother, nodding at his discarded shirt. “I can’t tell if you’re starting to sound like Jason or Damian.” 

“Laugh it up,” Tim grumbled, even as he folded the shirt up to provide as many layers as possible to press against the wound so they could go show Alfred what Dick had managed to do himself now. 

He was laughing, yes, but truthfully? Dick was _scared,_ and it was taking everything in him not to look at the altar he’d nearly disemboweled himself on. The injury wasn’t all that bad; he’d survived so, so much worse. 

The loss of control? He would never get used to that, and he was so, so goddamn sick of this happening. And this time, it wasn’t even one of the bad guys, not in their normal sense of the word. No, this was some, he didn’t know, fancy _possessed_ sacrificial boulder. 

Soon enough his arm was slung over Tim’s shoulders, free hand holding the shirt to his side, and he did his best not to just drop all his weight on his younger brother as they hurried out of the ballroom. It would probably have been best for Tim to go fetch Alfred, but frankly, Dick was as uncomfortable with being left alone as Tim clearly was with leaving him, if the anxious words being muttered under his breath was anything to go by. 

“Hey Timmy?” Blue eyes snapped to Dick’s face, and he did his best to give him a bright grin, pretending it wasn’t as strained as he knew it looked. “Maybe uh. Maybe don’t donate that exhibit, yeah?” 

Tim snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m thinking dropping it into a bottomless pit might be a more fitting decision.” Tim glanced over his shoulder, and Dick couldn’t help following his gaze. 

Whispers brushed against his ears, growing louder by the second as he followed the trail of blood from the knife he’d thrown, to the ancient stone. Shiny, rust colored droplets soaked into the rock, and a trick of the light made them glow. 

Tim had paused where they stood, rigid against his side, and that’s what snapped Dick back to himself. He jerked his head away and all but dragged them both forward, hissing a pained sound through his teeth when Tim stumbled before catching himself. They didn’t look back after that, moving perhaps a little quicker than Dick should have with a hole in his side, and didn’t pause until they reached the hall. 

“I’m never going to look at Man-Bat the same again.” 

“Dick, please stop talking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Casual mention of parental absence.  
> Character stabs himself, out of his own control, but it's interrupted. Very brief visions of ancient human sacrifices and a creature, as well as auditory hallucinations. 
> 
> I promise this is all bullshit. Please don't take me seriously. Or ask what this actually is. I have no idea. I just wanted Dick to stab himself. That's it. That's the fic.

**Author's Note:**

> I am very sorry to everyone who'd thought this might be an update to the Dick Grayson trauma I said I was working on.


End file.
